


help, i'm alive

by casfallsinlove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Season/Series 09, a teensy bit of angst, but doesn't contain any major spoilers i promise, mainly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casfallsinlove/pseuds/casfallsinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No. Let me do this, okay? You never answer my freakin’ prayers, don’t start now."</p>
<p>(In which Dean prays to Cas even though he's standing right there.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	help, i'm alive

**Author's Note:**

> posted on [tumblr](http://casfallsinlove.tumblr.com/post/63397347540) a while back
> 
> consider it a s9 fix-it fic for all the lost potential :)
> 
> (doesn't actually contain any s9 spoilers though, other than a couple of allusions to the premiere)

This is stupid, Dean thinks resolutely, standing there in the bunker with his hands clasped around Cas's bony shoulders (need to feed him up, now he's back) to keep him from running away.

It's stupid because Cas is crying. He's filthy and smelly and wearing some ratty hoody and cargo pants that he stole from god-knows-where, and there are miserable tears dribbling down his pale unshaven cheeks. 

It's the first time Dean's ever seen him really cry, and he doesn't know what to  _do_ with that.

"I can't hear you, Dean," Cas mutters, voice ten times rougher than his usual 'I've been chewing glass with a side of whiskey' monotone. "I can't hear anyone anymore. It's so... quiet. How do you _bear_ it?"

You know what, it's pretty weird for Dean too. Because, yeah, he prayed. And yeah, he figured that Cas couldn't hear him after there was no answering flap of wings, and knew it for sure after he received a call from a freaking pay phone.

But it was a difficult habit to get out of. Sometimes he still forgets, and will sit on the edge of his bed at night and whisper pleas or shout curses (depending on his overall mood and level of alcohol consumption) into the abyss.

So here he is, standing in front of a crying fallen angel, a  _human_ , and all he can think is:  _Cas has no idea what I wanted to say._

Of their own volition, his hands move. They shift up, his fingers dragging over the prickly skin of Cas's neck, until they're cupping his jaw. He has absolutely no idea what he's doing.

"Cas, you got your ears on, buddy?" he mutters, and Cas (understandably) frowns in perplexion. 

"Dean, I--"

But Dean ignores him, because this is something he's done a thousand times, right? He can do it again, even if Cas is staring at him so intently he feels like his brain's gonna explode.

"You gotta come home," he continues, voice whisper soft. The words are familiar and easy as they roll off his tongue. "You gotta come back to us."

And Cas is still crying, but he seems to be shocked into silence, and yeah okay, Dean can work with that. It's not like the dude's ever really been a particular Chatty Cathy, anyways.

With trembling apprehension, Dean thinks of the last time he'd really put it all out there for Cas, unaware that he was getting a disconnected line.

"I need you here, okay? You think I'm mad at you, I know, but I'm not, Cas. I'm not mad. I'm..." scared? confused? so totally gone on him? "... desperate."

There's something inherently human about the way Cas's chin wobbles.

"Our lives are really shitty," Dean laughs quietly, though it's not funny at all. "Seriously, like, I dunno if this is karma for a past life--" (or forty years in Hell) "--but what I do know is that they're even shittier when you're not around."

"Dean..."

"No," he tells him sharply. "Let me do this, okay? You never answer my freakin' prayers, don't start now."

Dean feels it in his whole body when Cas nods. 

"You're like... I don't know, man, I'm not good at all this chick-flick crap," he huffs out a sigh and tries again. "Bobby once said you were the best friend I've ever had, and he was right. 'Cause you are, Cas. My best friend. There ain't nothing we can't work out, okay? So when I tell you that I need you, I ain't makin' it up. And when I eventually tell you that I--when I tell you other shit, you gotta believe that too."

When a solid sixty seconds pass and Cas still hasn't said anything, and Dean is starting to get arm ache and there are warm saltwater tears trickling down his thumbs, he finally realises the problem and rolls his eyes. "You can talk now."

But Cas shakes his head. His hands come up to wrap around Dean's wrists and he says, "I don't want to talk, Dean."

There's a sinking feeling in the pit of Dean's stomach, and fuck it all, he _knew_ there was a reason why he hadn't done this sooner. What the fuck was he thinking, saying all that shit? You'd think he'd learn from past mistakes, but no--

And that's when Cas takes an impossible step closer, until they're practically nose-to-nose and Dean can feel his hot breath ghosting over his lips, and his brain stops working. 

"Cas, what--?"

"Shh," Cas murmurs. "It's my turn now." 

And the next thing Dean knows, there are a pair of slightly chapped, moist lips brushing softly against his own. It's faint and feather-light and leaves behind a tingle. 

"Cas?" he asks, because no seriously, what is happening? This can't be--he can't--there is _no_ way...

"Dean," Cas replies in that way that he always says his name, like it really _means_ something.

Cas's eyes trace the movement of Dean's mouth as Dean tugs an uncertain lip between his teeth. And then he leans in again, and before he can kiss Dean into oblivion he answers the unspoken question with a single word. "Yes."


End file.
